


Rosella

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Dwalin, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo admires Dwalin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosella

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Fem!Bilbo cannot stop thinking about the dwarf warrior. Those muscles!! Oh, Green Lady, give her strenght” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22634219#t22634219).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She doesn’t go to the fountain, of course. Bilbo Baggins may have fallen a long way from the Shire’s standards, but she hasn’t gone quite _that_ far down the gutter. She wouldn’t publicly bathe with a bunch of rowdy dwarves, even if some are women. Some aren’t. They may not be interested in a small, weak hobbit like her that they think more a grocer than a burglar, but propriety stands, and Bilbo waits in their shared quarters for them. She sprawls out on one of the plush beds, stomach-down, and pours over the maps Lord Elrond’s lent her: ancient, far-reaching, beautiful things. 

She’s eyeing the borders of Rohan when the door opens, and at first, she doesn’t look up. She expects Lindir, or one of the other attendants, quietly changing linens around her or offering a light snack. But then she hears the heavy footfalls and knows it’s not an elf—it’s a dwarf, whose gate she’s very much memorized.

She looks up to find Dwalin, dripping wet and nearly naked, wrapped in only a towel. It cuts flat across her heavy chest, trapping in her round breasts, hanging straight down her body to hide her stomach and hips, which is probably just as well—the one or two times Bilbo has seen Dwalin’s bare abs, she’s nearly fainted. But this time isn’t much better. The towel cuts off just at the top of Dwalin’s thighs, and Bilbo can see the well-defined lines of her thick muscles, tracing all her arms and legs. For one horrible moment, Bilbo can’t tear herself away from those legs, and then she finally jumps up to Dwalin’s ample cleavage, and then to Dwalin’s face.

Dwalin smiles through her grey-brown beard, slick and darker for it, like the long hair that spills over her shoulders. Her bald head glistens in the midday light, tattoos on display. She looks just as beautiful as she always does, but worse, because Bilbo can see nearly _everything_ , and she’s _weak._

She can’t seem to make herself give up—Dwalin’s a _warrior_ , brave and strong and proud, and Bilbo’s just a fat hobbit who can’t stop dreaming of home. She smiles, shaky and nervous but polite and hopefully endearing, and she sits up, as though making room on the bed. She asks, “How was it?” while Dwalin steps forward to glance down at the maps.

“Fun enough,” Dwalin answers, reaching for the map. Her hands are so much _bigger_ than Bilbo’s, like all of her. Her eyes go straight to the corner the Lonely Mountain’s in, and she frowns. “Got quite a few looks from the elves, but they were smart enough not to give us any trouble.” Then she sets the map down again and heads to the corner, kneeling down to rifle through their mass of packs, all tossed around the floor. None of the dwarves wanted to put their things in the elves’ drawers, though Bilbo neatly folded and put all of her things away. “And Nori got my trousers stuck in a tree,” she adds, grumbling. 

On instinct, Bilbo says, “You can borrow some of mine.” And then she blushes horribly, because of course Dwalin can’t. Thick as Bilbo is, Dwalin wouldn’t be able to get her fist through one of Bilbo’s pant-legs, let along a thigh. It’s what Bilbo would say to another woman in the Shire, but then, Dwalin isn’t like any other woman Bilbo’s ever met before.

Dwalin shoots her a wry smile. “I don’t think that’d be wise, lassie.” She’s already pulling out her own change of clothes, and then Bilbo has to look away while Dwalin changes, right out in the open, because dwarves seem to have no sense of shame at all. Not around nudity, anyway. Bilbo tries to concentrate on her map again.

When Dwalin walks by the bed, towel draped over her shoulder and a slew of small puddles in her wake, she suggest, “Why don’t you come next time?”

Bilbo looks up to mumble, “Oh, I don’t... I don’t know. I don’t want to embarrass anyone.”

“Cute thing like you?” Dwalin snorts. “Don’t be silly; we’d love to have you. Some more than others.” There, she winks, and Bilbo feels her cheeks turn hotter, mind reeling. 

Dwalin strolls from the room without another word, leaving Bilbo alone with ‘ _cute_ ’ ringing in her head. Dwalin thinks she’s _cute_. Maybe _Dwalin_ would ‘love to have’ her. 

Or maybe she’s a dirty old hobbit that needs to stop ogling her friends, and she plunges extra hard into her maps, trying desperately not to picture riding Dwalin’s broad shoulders at the far end of the fountain.


End file.
